Timeless
by Fogs of Gray
Summary: All those moments we never saw of Macon Ravenwood. His feelings, his thoughts, his relationships. Little snippets of missing time.
1. Chapter 1

m still putting it out here. Quite honestly, I am terrified about how well this will do. Anyways, I hope you like it. I shall see you on the other end. OH! **Slight spoilers for the first book, Beautiful Creatures. **Read at your own risk if you haven't finished it.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine at all. I own nothing of this, nor anything you connect with it. I stole a few lines from Dr. Who, I believe. Correction: **I also took a line or two from Sherlock. **(Amazing show, by the way. Thank you to 'Guest' for pointing that out) And the character is from Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl.

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><p><strong>TIMELESS<strong>

~Blind~

He smiled softly as his vision disappeared, dissolving into another image. The view was jerky, moving with the bounds of the canine. He could see everything today. The sun shined brightly, warming the dog's fur. The light illuminated crevasses that were usually solidified by shadows. Windows remained open, whispers billowed through the street. Boo shook his head gently, tilting his ears under the tree's shadow. He couldn't venture further into the light. A stranger might find him, report him, and Macon would have to venture into town at night to find him. The dog blinked twice, his eyes adjusting to Macon's. Macon's smile dimmed slowly as he found himself back at Ravenwood, a monster permanently caged. He would be lying if he said he didn't love Boo. He gave sight to his blind owner, knowledge to the curious. He was everything he needed in a companion, everything he needed to carry on with life, and not teeter off the edge. He was one of the only things keeping him alive.

~Wrong~

Do you ever wonder there's something wrong with us?" Macon's eyes moved away from the window, gazing forlornly at the deserted road in front of him. Of course nobody turned left. He felt his father's hand tighten on his shoulder.

"Caring isn't in our nature, Macon. It certainly is not an advantage. All lives end. Every heart is broken." Macon nodded slightly, Silas's hand loosening to a gently urging tone. He noticed the soft distant gleam in his son's eyes, hidden behind the masked indifference of immortality. "You will understand someday, son." Suddenly he was staring back at his own reflection, harsh and unstably shot back at him.

"What if I don't want to understand?" His young lips parted for another question before pressing firmly closed. Doubt rushed through his mind. _It's quite alright, Silas. Abraham warned you that he might disappoint in the end. You still have Hunting, and he seems to be quite a promising endeavor._ He squeezed his son's shoulder tightly, forcing him to look at his father.

"You will understand someday. Every Incubus does in the end." Macon nodded. Silas's hand loosened, just barely resting on his son. "You are a Ravenwood, Macon. You will understand, no matter how much you fight it. You will succumb to temptation eventually, son." Macon's ebony eyes hardened, but he didn't speak. _Any day now._

~Capture~

His head rose from the thickly bound book, its pages brittle and its print worn. A woman knocked on the door jamb, her fist poised for another hit. "Delphine," he breathed. He stood carefully, as if not to break the delicate silence. Her brilliant green eyes were fogged with tears. Shimmering streaks dried on her faintly blushed skin. Her body shook with ine tremors. He Traveled in front of her, his hand sweeping away stray hair from her forehead, his thumb brushing away her salty sorrows. With both hands on the sides of her face, he lowered himself to eye level. "Del, what is wrong?"

Her eyes stared glassily at him, before shattering, sobbing into his shoulder. "Sarafine had her baby. A sweet little girl." Macon held her close, one arm wrapping securely around her feeble frame, the other stroking her hair gently.

"I don't believe I understand, Del. Please elaborate, dear." She shook in his arms.

"She's a Natural, Macon." Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and still painfully familiar. His hand faltered slightly at the realization. "We...how do we choose, Macon? How do you seperate your family and send them to slaughter?" He couldn't hear her. His mind was already cataloging every facet of this new gem. His voice was low when he spoke again.

"She has to choose Light." Del quieted, her sobs unbearably soft and completely useless to him. She tried to protest, but he cut her off. "Delphine, think about it. She would be doing us a favor, would she not? Choosing to save the better half of her family?" She shook her head, tears beginning to soak through his jacket.

"Macon, she's going to kill you." He nodded gently, his arms tightening at the thought.

"I won't be the only one, Del." A shudder ran through his sister's frame. "I'm only one man, Delphine. And, if what Silas taught me is remotely true, I am eternally damned. There's no going back...especially not now." Delphine nodded into his shoulder, turning her head to look at him again. "She can't go Dark. You have a family, a husband, a future, Del. The rest of us...we hardly know where our souls are, let alone our futures." Her body relaxed into his. "Please, Del. Do this one thing for me. Give me the comfort of knowing that you're safe." His voice faltered slightly. She nodded.

~Regret~

He allowed his fingertips to graze the doorjamb, fleetingly feeling the pain dissolve, if only momentarily. Her voice echoed in his ears, quiet and trapped. _I promise, Macon._His lips pulled up slightly at the memory of her, even in such a dampened state. He distantly heard cracking and pain flowered in his palm. A quick glance confirmed his suspicions. Red trickled down the white, staining and standing in stark contrast to the cleanliness of the room. He gently moved his fingers, pulling them off the wood with no resistance. A crack curled its way down the nearly impeccable wood, opening itself to his eyes. He closed his eyes, his eternal fire stoked by visions. His mind was betraying him again. Where no one stood, a figure manifested, with long curling brown hair and hand outstretched to him. _Macon..._ He growled and ran a tired hand over his face, grief tightening its grip on him. _She's gone. She isn't yours anymore._ He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, his injured hand curling into a fist._ This isn't your home. Ravenwood is. It always has been. You were absurd for thinking anything different._ He barely felt the cold sweep through him, the fire's flames whipping around at the wind. He was breaking, second by second...and he couldn't help himself. He straightened his suit and stepped forward once. The fire fought futilely against the wind. He could feel the will to live draining from him, emotions and humanity eroding with each thought. He cast another fleeting glance around his room. _She isn't yours to remember._ His fist tightened. He stepped carefully and quickly, and with no time he found himself down a flight of stairs. He briefly noticed an invisible wind sweeping around him, rain scattering itself in his hair as he opened the door. Tears pricked in his eyes. Macon turned and closed his door, murmuring a Cast softly under his breath. _She isn't yours to forget._ His eyes lit for a moment as power surged through him, his voice draped in finality. He ducked his head and looked out into the night. Cold lapped at his skin, seeping through, deep inside him. He continued walking, his thoughts wandering, forcibly occupied with comments on the weather and how proud his father would be. Flickers of her face threatened to consume him. By the time he caught them, they were out of reach. He didn't notice the silence. _She isn't yours to regret._ The embers flashed gently before dying.

~Cage~

His hand settled against the window glass, staring into the shadows. The wall creaked from the force, the pads of his fingers sensing the resistance. He pushed back, a growl starting in his throat. The man he saw, his reflection, hadn't been himself at all. His eyes were bloodshot. His hair was in disarray. His body had thinned. The Cast ran through his mind, vague and reassuring. _Capture, Cage & Crusify._ He briefly pondered what it would feel like, trapped for all eternity, until someone chose to open the door. He sighed and shook his head. He was already trapped, unable to leave Ravenwood in the daytime. Unable to see-he stopped the thought before it hurt him. His fingers trailed across the glass, expecting the pricks of pain that assaulted him. He had Bound Ravenwood countless times, with just as many Casts. If an intruder made it inside, albeit the chance was few, they would be caged here...like him. His father's voice rang through him. R_avenwood Manor is your home. As my son, it is your responsibility to take charge. _He would have laughed at the situation, if the silence wasn't so comforting. Taking charge...he hardly believed Silas meant for him to slowly kill himself. Piece by piece, with every passing thought, he was loosing. He put up a front for his family, faked a smile more than sincerely, and had a faulty drive that seemed strong. _This is your past, present and future, Macon._ He turned sharply from the window, anger roaring inside him. What was he? The son of Silas Ravenwood. He wasn't his father. An Incubus. No. He was far more evolved. A caged Demon. He winced slightly as he started on his glass of scotch. The alcohol helped dull his pain, take the sharpness of his thoughts away. He was a Ravenwood. No matter how much he hated it, he belonged here. The glass settled beside the others, empty and unfulfilling. Murmuring a Cast, he turned to the door. He needed Delphine.

~Fifteen~

His eyes flashed over the pages, drinking in every detail, every flick of a wrist. Noticing the cracks in the ink, the slight eroding of substance. _The Natural is untamed, unclaimed to a side, neither Light nor Dark._ He cursed softly. He couldn't save her. She was her own demise, the one thing keeping this curse from finally unfurling. He closed his ebony eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. Lena...he was doing this for his niece. She still had a good fifteen years before she had to choose. Hell, she was barely toddling. More than enough time, he reassured himself. Macon breathed a sigh and continued reading. _The end of a family, the beginning of another, one must decide whom to save and whom to damn._ "Damn," he murmured. The idea was tossed around for the last year, who she should choose, Light or Dark. The answer seemed painstakingly clear to him. She had to Bind herself to Light. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Fifteen years left. Fifteen years to contemplate, to remember, to protect. His eyes burned slightly. For a moment, he almost worried that she'd find him. The idea was absurd. She was safely holed away in Barbados, with her Grandma Emmaline. All of the family's strongest Casters had visited, Binding the house to the Light. It was only a matter of time before they came here to Ravenwood. _Are you Light or Dark, Macon? _He knew the obvious answer was Dark. He was a creature now. One that would fade in brightness, die in the smallest glimpse of sunlight. He didn't know what would happen once he Bound himself to Light. Would the effect be similar to sunlight? Would the decision somehow change him? He doubted it...although he let the thought bounce around. If he did die, it would be an early loss, years before he was supposed to. It would perhaps lessen the blow towards his family. Towards Lena. Jane...Lila could move on, finally forgetting him. All in all it wasn't an unpleasant thought. His brows furrowed, and a glass of scotch appeared. He quietly thanked Kitchen, and brought the glass to his lips, letting the alcohol slide down his throat. A small smile teased his lips. God, it had been so long since he had tasted, felt, the familiar burn racing through him. He gingerly set the glass down and breathed deeply. Fifteen years.

~Intrigue~

Wide eyes stared back at him. The pads of his fingers brushed across her skin, marveling at the Mortal heat resonating from her. Her raven hair was comparable to his own, and from an outsider's perspective, they could have been father and daughter. A dull ache bloomed deep inside him. He couldn't have that. He might grow close through the years, but whatever he did, he would never be her father. He felt phantom pangs behind his eyes, as if impossible tears finally blossomed. Her small hand pressed insistently against his cheek. "Uncle Macon, why are your eyes black?" He struggled for an answer. How did you tell a young girl that you are a Demon? How did you justify sleeping all day?

"It's nothing you have to worry about, Lena." She stared into his eyes a bit longer before nodding her head. He smiled softly and ran his hand through her hair. She leaned into his palm slightly. "Lena, I promise, I'm no different than I was before you asked." He leaned in, murmuring in her ear, "Besides, I'd never let anything harm you." _Even myself._ She rolled her eyes and turned her head to kiss his cheek. He smiled softly. With a quick swing of his arm, he pulled her onto his lap. She giggled at the surprise, her young eyes jubilant. He could see the intrigue still looming in her emerald depths. She stared back at him, this time content with the lack of answers. She buried her head into the crook of his neck, wrapping her small arms around his frame.

"I love you, Uncle M." He felt a shiver form deep inside him. He kissed her hair lightly, fighting to keep his composure.

"I love you, too, Lena."

~Never enough~

Macon wanted to close his eyes. The words were true. Five months. It wasn't enough. Not by far. He had tried everything he could, deterred Lena from going to school, tried to Bind the house again. It wasn't enough. The boy, Ethan, had the nerve to challenge him. As if he had not given all he had already. _You aren't enough_. Once again a flare of fear hit him. His words replayed through his head. _Do you know what lengths I will go to, to keep her safe for five months? What it will cost me? How it will drain me, perhaps, destroy me?_ Lena squeezed his hand. Of course. Five months would never be long enough. When the time came, he would forfeit whatever was needed to keep her safe. His powers. His freedom. His life. _Most illuminating._ He met her eyes, veiling the whirl of emotions that had gripped him. His eyes flickered to the door. Lena smiled, an expression that nearly made him smile back. Nearly. She kissed his cheek and slipped through his fingers. Blew out the door. He distantly prayed it wouldn't be the last time.

~Comparisons~

His skin was warm, charged with Mortal dreams and desires. Figments of ideas and memories. His skin was heated lightly, fueled by the death of a Mortal, their blood coursing freely through him. His face was almost always a mask of perfect composure. His features were usually twisted into a condescending smirk. His eyes were distant, set on nothing and everything. His eyes were sharp, not missing a beat. Cigars found themselves between his lips occasionally, more so a few glasses of scotch. His preference was cigarettes. He fed from the hopeless ideas of Mortals, saving them the disappointment following such harebrained dreams. He stole the life of a Mortal, sucking their blood greedily. He always had a witty comeback on hand, and stayed to the more polite side of speech. He openly spoke, sometimes without turn, sometimes directly segregating a person and pouncing, verbally or physically. He knew that his years were running low. He was under the illusion that his years spanned decades. In the end, they were brothers, no matter how different.

He had dark hair, aged by the Binding of Ravenwood. He had the same dark hues, still youthful. Both claimed pale skin as their tone. Both knew exactly what atrocities Casters and Incubi alike could commit. They'd witnessed it first hand from their father's fist. They both loved and lost, one forever losing himself to torment, the other holing himself away for quiet self persecution. Both frequented themselves with others, whether it be a Blood Pack or more than decent family. Both were branded to the supernatural world by their father's name. Both brothers shared the deepest black as their eye color, the trademark of an Incubus. Both had been mutated to said form, and both resented their father for it, no matter how hard the younger brother tried to hide it. In the end, they were brothers who understood each other more than any other, because they were the same.

~Crucify~

He held back a sigh as the moon glowed down on his face. He could feel the coolness lapping at his skin, the gentle fear and apprehension that had been his constant companion for the last five years. Just a few hours more. He couldn't deny that it scared him to an extent, what would happen once he passed. He was damned. He knew exactly what was on the other side for an Incubus. He knew that he wasn't in any state for redemption, if there ever was a chance for such a thing. His hand settled at his side, his thumb pressed against his ring. He brushed over it a few times, memorizing the words engraved into the aged silver. Testing the power that surged through his body. He cast a glance around the room. This was the end, he noted. The end of his life. The end of his caged life here in Ravenwood. For a brief moment, he felt pride rush through him. He doubted his father had anticipated _this _move. He had expected the prison of Ravenwood, in which his son holed himself away from the world for his life. He expected the few times that Macon had tried, and succeeded, in drinking himself into dreamless bliss. Killing himself, certainly. He was dying this whole time, with every second, every stolen breath, every footstep. His lips pulled into a regretting smile as he closed the door behind him. He let the wind rush through his hair. The warm air caressed his skin, welcoming him back into the world. His eyes caught a flash of white and gold. _Welcome back, Sarafine._

~Forever~

They had promised eternity. Two hundred years. All the time in the world. A life of leisure where the only worry would be when to feed again. However, they had twisted the reality, molding it into an unreal fantasy. Irresistible. He had known from the moment his shoulder snapped, it wasn't true. It couldn't be. Forever...it wasn't as simple as that, was it? His father had been so proud. He had not only one Incubus son, but two. Two capable sons to inherit his legacy. Macon sighed and rubbed his eyes. From the readings today, he knew it wasn't all so black and white. Someone was going to die, one way or another. According to the text, sweet innocent Lena would be deciding his fate. And although the thought chilled him to the bone, he knew he couldn't change it. He gently closed the book, his fingers trailing over the leather cover. Forever. He had forever...confined into a decade.

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><p>AN: Okay? Terrible? Needs a ton of work? No matter how strong your opinions are, I need a review, because I can't read your minds. Too bad... So, press that little blue button, please!


	2. Chapter 2

p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"I know I said there wasn't going to be another chapter, but I think this is gaining steam, so why not add another chapter? I hope no one is offended./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Disclaimer: Not minep  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Warnings: Possible triggers, and implied abuse of a certain Cubi, mentions of abortionp  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"SPOILERS: Just read the books, okay? There are spoilers, but nothing terribly intricate. You'll just be confused as hell if you haven't read far enough. :) strongIf you are concerned about spoilers, PM me and I will send the ones that correspond to whatever book you are on. strongemI added four new snapshots...they weren't enough for another chapter, so they were added here. :) Again, I published more shots, but they weren't enough for a story chapter (as stated above)./em/p  
>hr style="color: #000000; font-family: Times; font-size: medium;" noshade="noshade" size="1"   
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Breath~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He counted his breaths. He knew the day was coming, and when he was there, on the ground, his vision fading, he counted. emFiveem. He couldn't feel anything. emFour/em. He thought it was the end. emThree/em. He remembered his Jane. emTwo/em. His breath was stolen from him./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He knew he was lucky. He wouldn't dare say, or think, the word. In his eyes, he had survived. He didn't acknowledge the fact that he had the chance to be a father again. That even though the children were a pain, he adored them, and would protect them no matter the cost. He had made a silent oath to himself when he was first given the role, that he wouldn't be his father's son. That he would never wish the abuse he had inflicted on him to another. That he would be there on their birthdays, wherever they were at the time. He could promise them that much. However, he supposed it didn't matter. He could promise anything. People still died. His years still dwindled. Life went on. The world kept spinning. He counted his breaths.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Inquiry~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He was asked once if it stopped. He had laughed bitterly. He knew the answer. He still prayed that it was some mistake. He still drank away her memory until he could hardly speak. He still found himself thinking about her, even though it had been decades. He still regretted the decision he made. He still hated that even after leaving her, for her emsafety,em he was the reason she died. He knew the answer. It never stopped. The pain never stopped./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Revenge~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He didn't once consider an action in reply. He was well aware it wouldn't change a thing. He would see her on the streets. She would never be there. He would drink himself away. Her voice would echo in his thoughts. He would still have to put up a front. She would have a son. He would still have a responsibility. She would never come home. He would still be coping. She would still be dead. Reciprocating wouldn't change a damned thing.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Touch~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Macon would lie, if the question was valid. Of course, he didn't think it was. Some nights he would think he'd lost his mind. Others, he would embrace it. Whispering touches would dance across his skin. A ghost of a kiss against his lips. A murmur that barely caught his ear. A hand, still warm, the heat radiating against his cheek from the proximity. Fingers deftly carding through his hair, brushing over his scalp. A pressure on the back of his neck, the contact almost burning. He could imagine them to be specific. The hand was catching unshed tears. The dance was similar to emhersem in its patterns. The kiss was a fragrant memory. The murmur would form his name. Her name. The fingers were passionate. The hand against his neck urging. Some nights he thought he had lost his mind in those touches. Other nights, he was grateful for the chance at memory./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Recollect~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He could remember everything about her. The way her eyes tightened when she smiled. The way tears brimmed, catching slightly on her eyelashes. The way her cheeks flushed at his slightest touch. He could remember everything he had said to her, every thought, down to saying goodbye for the last time. He could hear the tremor in her voice, the faintest shiver at his name. He could feel the drag of her fingertips across his cheek. He could still make out her scent lingering in the air of a memory. He remembered every detail, but when faced in saying her name, he faltered. emLila Evers.em Of course the correction came, as expected. It hurt more than imagined. emEvers-Wate./em He made his apologies and was about to duck out of the room when the boy's voice interrupted him. emYou knew my mother?/em He would have laughed if Ethan hadn't resembled her in that moment. Knew her? Gods, he was in love with her. La doeleur exsquise, as his mother would describe it. emOnly through her work./em He could remember every detail about her. He couldn't remember her last name./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Sanctuary~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Macon would admit he was torn, if asked. Was it safe to shelter the children? Would the shock of the real world, the war that never ceased, ruin them? He had known the pain of life long before he understood his name had damned him. Silas had ensured that to both of Hunting and himself. The shock to him was the reason, the motive, of war. It had changed many times throughout the years. He learned of that in his first week as an Incubus, when the light had shifted to him and his act of treason. Of course, he could never imagine Reece killing her sister because of something completely out of their control. He couldn't visualize that light dimming in her green eyes. He couldn't, and yet that was the reality. It was a possibility, a very real one, that kin would turn on each other during the course of the next few months. He knew that. However, the parallel of teaching them how to kill had struck him cold. It led to far more questions than answers. When to start? What Casts were acceptable? Could the children call upon those Casts if need be? Would they hesitate? How would that affect the outcome? How do you explain the chances of survival to a child that can hardly understand why you were damned? Would you tell them that you would protect them? Or would that crutch hinder their urgency? He hadn't the slightest of clues. Times such as these, he wondered if Ravenwood were a sanctuary or a death sentence.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Two~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He knew the chances of him being The One Who Was Two were real. In the end, he didn't give a damn. He couldn't find the presence of mind to deny it. Even if it were true, he was glad. He had lived every day to its extent. He had more touching moments with Lena. She could move on with Ethan. Macon would never have a regret, except for the fact he wouldn't see her wedding. He supposed he never should have hoped for that. Never should have crossed his mind. However, now that he was back, he couldn't shake the thought from mind. He wouldn't be able to walk her down the isle. He wouldn't be able to see her in her wedding dress. He wouldn't see any of it, and it was his regret.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Somehow, he hoped he was the One. He knew Lena would recover after his death. She had before. Any of the others, Ridley, Amarie, Wesley, Olivia, Ethan...she would be beside herself. She would forget him. He would be the One. His name would fade from memory. His memories would remain unheard. He was fine with the possibility.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~First~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He had been speechless for the first time when he was beneath a spreading oak's branches. A woman with brown hair and eyes, normally plain to anyone else, had caught his stare. She then smiled and continued her stroll across the campus. He couldn't think of a single thing to reciprocate. He could only replay the memory of her grin. He ignored the fact he smelled her from meters away. All that mattered was emherem. Her and how he was going to pursue their budding relationship. He dug through his thoughts, trying to pick up on her name from American History. As the clock tolled, it came to mind. Jane. Jane Evers. The girl who answered quickly and confidently. He knew her now, of course. There was no way around that. For the first time, he was speechless./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Months later, he found her on the street. The rain had came, and he had captured her lips in a passionate kiss. He couldn't stay away. He tasted the tears streaming down her face. He could smell the scent of adrenaline thrilling through her. He held her close, just keeping her there, as if afraid she would blow away. She had broken apart in his arms, and for the first time, he wished he could cry.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"In the end, he was there, in the middle of Gatlin's cemetery, staring at the grave of her. In the end, he had accomplished nothing from leaving. No matter the precautions he put up, he still killed her. He could cry, now. He had been caught speechless more frequently. But standing there, staring at the only thing left of his Jane, he felt another pang of hurt. Not for the first time, he wished it was him in her place.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Last~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He could remember the last time he saw Lena. He could barely see. He had murmured her name as loud as he could manage. Emmaline's only response was for him to hush. He knew he was weak. He knew there wasn't much time. He had wanted to see her, if only for the last time. He convinced Emmaline to tilt his head to the side enough to watch her. She was still standing, her ebony curls rushing in the wind. Her eyes were positively green, there was no doubt in his mind. She was beautiful in her fury.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"The last time he breathed. He had known it was coming. It was inevitable. It still caught him off guard when the breath was stolen from his lungs. Fear latched onto him, deep and fathomless in its totality. He felt a coldness inside him that he couldn't shake off. Lena's figure faded. Emmaline shook him. He couldn't help but be glad.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Chance~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"The last actual conversation he had with his brother was out of pure chance. The man had arrived in a tear, the air rippling with the force. "Brother," he snarled quietly. Macon had turned at the noise. His answer was softer.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;""Hunting." Surprise colored his voice, carefully concealed under his composed mask. The addressed had stepped forward hastily, his façade breaking momentarily. "This is treason. Betrayal on both of our loyalties...especially this far into the war." He had shook his head and breathed a sigh. "What do you need?"p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;""I emneedem a decent plan. We emneed/em you on our side. The Incubi are torn on whether to follow or stray, no thanks to your decision." Hunting had closed his eyes momentarily, barely longer than a blink. "Father is expecting me to live up to his reputation, since your 'alliance' has practically erased you from lineage." When his eyes met Macon's, the older nearly felt the burn of fire nestled in his dark depths. "Damn it, Macon. I..." he had trailed off before taking a deep breath. "I can't help you. You're alone in this, don't you understand? They'll overwhelm you. And I...I'll have to stand, and watch, as though I don't care that the dying man in front of me is my brother." His fists had tightened at his side. "Do you understand what your giving up? I could...I can...do emsomething/em to let them take you back in." Macon understood in that last message that his fate was sealed. He gave his answer and Hunting had left. Hunting turned more to alcohol and nicotine. The brothers avoided each other until it was needed. Until they inevitably collided. Until one of them had to die./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Reason~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"His dark eyes snapped to the moon, awaiting another minute to pass. With a soft click, he checked his pocket watch, and tried not to linger on the feel of worn metal against his fingers. A small smile was illuminating his face. February eleventh. Memories flashed across his mind, muddling his already impaired judgement. Raven hair against paley flushed skin. The thrum of her heartbeat, quiet and terribly prominent. A quick kiss on his cheek, the heat still lingering. He had shaken his head gently. If he remembered correctly, she was in Barbados. His fingers were drumming against his thigh, waiting for the one moment when he could finally leave. A whistle had broken the silence. "Leah," he breathed. His sister had strolled out of the shadows, the darkness clinging to her form.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;""Brother dear," she had responded. Her lips had not been pulled into a bright smile. Her eyes had been slightly clouded. Her red dress had hung limply on her body. "I had to see for myself. Word in the Tunnels is that you Bound yourself to the Light." A small grin had tugged at her lips. "It's about time." He hadn't known whether she was referring to his ties to the Light or his current endeavor. Abruptly, arms had wrapped themselves tightly around him. In the brief moment he hesitated, she had whispered softly, "It's about damn time."p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Simple~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"It could have been simple. They could have Cast a curse to the unborn child. Neither mother nor child would have noticed. Of course, the latter was disputed. Killing the babe would have been the answer. It would have been quick. It would leave the family intact. It would leave emthemem intact. He supposed that was where the problem was rooted. They were willing to gamble their lives away for the chance at ending this war. Of course, they couldn't be emlogical/em in their actions. However, he also knew he had nothing to live for. He had no complaints other than the possibility of Light losing the fight. That theory relied on the child growing attached to him, though. He promised himself he would never let her close enough for that. He was only one man, albeit a major player in the battle. He was only one man, and no emsimple /emmistake would change that./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Hero~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He wasn't a hero. He was revered as such when he had died, of course. However, he imagined it was all in the light that he had died for Lena. That he had emsacrificedem himself for her. To their credit, they had been right...to an extent. They hadn't taken into thought the numbing sadness that had forced him into alcoholism. They forgot that he had never stopped loving emher/em, the woman who slipped through his fingers. That he hated how he could hold everything together and still lose her. How he had woken up that first night, the first time he had slept well, and her name was on his lips. emHer/em name was on the tip of his tongue. They didn't take that into account, though. No, they simply wrote him off as a hero, for the wrong emher/em. It didn't mean he loved Lena any less. Quite the opposite, in reality. He loved her like a daughter. Given half the chance, he would die for her. But that night, with the embers stoking the sky, those hauntingly familiar eyes staring back at him, eyes that had been lurking in memory for decades, he wanted to die for emher/em./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Choice~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"When he chose the Light they had assumed it was for Jane. The decision was rushed on his part. He was teetering on the edge of insanity when he Bound himself. He needed the thoughts to stop. The constant push and pull of instinct and sensibility. Part of him wanted to kill, the other reasoned that it wouldn't stop with one kill. Three weeks. He had lasted three weeks when an old memory stopped him cold. A memory that he couldn't recall now, but knew it was centered around his father and what that man was. He rushed the decision, hellbent on salvaging at least some of his humanity. Thinking back on it, he could have said it was because he wanted control over his instincts. Over when he was going to lose his sense. Over who he harmed. Over when he lost himself once a night, when the urge to kill was the strongest. In the end, all he wanted was to control one aspect of his life.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Save~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He was sitting in his study, his head in his hands. He had no doubt he would be crying if his body would have allowed it. He could hear Delphine's quiet sniffles across from him. He closed his eyes before taking a shuddering breath. A sob started in his sister's chest. He could feel his mind shutting down, the emotions being closed off. Between the two of the lay a leather bound book, opened wide for both to see. They had thought there was a loophole, some minor slip in the specifications, some trip, emsomethingem they could use to their advantage. They weren't wrong in that hope, but they didn't accept the conclusion as help. At least, Delphine didn't. "One of us..." Her voice was trembling. "One of us is going to-" she broke off. He breathed a sigh. One of them. One side. One family. Half damned by chance, the others by name. Half saved by fate and a curse that spanned generations. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Then again, he never expected it to be either of those. He raised his head to rub a tired hand over his face. Stubble rubbed against his palm. emRemember to shave immediately after she leaves./em/p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"The next time they discussed their imminent demise was on their niece's fifteenth birthday. They had passed each other in a hall, he had arrived minutes before expected and stayed a few minutes later than planned. The encounter was a few words, hushed and rapid in nature, completely on the whim of thought. Macon was convinced she wouldn't hear. Delphine proved him wrong with a quick retort. Lena, however, hadn't heard a word.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"They never talked about it again. They had alluded to it many times and both of them had caught each reference with the best of graces. That night they exchanged a quick embrace. He had whispered in her ear, soft enough for no one else to hear. emThankem emyou, Delphine./em He didn't elaborate. He didn't have to./p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Rain~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He could hear her in the rain, when he focused. It hurt worse than her leaving. The pounding down his house would legitimatize into a cry, a memory, a breath. Into something he swore to forget but couldn't bear the consequences of. He would imagine what he remembered of raindrops. How they soaked into anything. How they snatched his feeble breath. In his eyes, the rain was beautiful. It represented an innocent love, the mind of a young child, the punishing tread that hadn't quite set in. He loved it. It reminded him of his Jane.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"~Struggle~p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He didn't know when it dawned on him. It wasn't a brilliant epiphany. It wasn't a burst of knowledge, a sudden realization. He knew what it was. The end. The beginning. It was a cry. A rush. A baited breath. It was everything he wanted. Everything he didn't. It was the unraveling of a sweater and the construction of a much grander tapestry. It was one door closing. One door opening. It was a promise. It was a threat. It was a truth. It was a slander. It was a lifeline. It was his death. And damn him if it didn't scare him.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He felt the dread for a brief moment. It was when he was dressing for Lena's party. He had caught a glancing look of the night before him. It terrified him. He had always known what was next. What would happen to him. How this entire story would end this night, not too far from his home that wasn't a home, in the place his step-mother's family and his had collided. It was history repeating itself. Tearing apart everything in its path. Even his Jane, who never should have known he existed. Who wouldn't have, if he had been more careful. However, what was after this, what was past the limits of mortality, was vague at best. He knew he was going to his equivalent of hell. It wasn't a hard concept. He was confident. He was sure. It hit him then, much different than his dulling prospect. He swore he could feel death's hand burning through his suit, tightening with every second. It was an illusion, of course. He shouldn't be dying now, when he was in his prime Cubi years. He had a century and a half to live, actually *living*, not rushing around to skewed meetings or drinking his wits away. He took a deep breath and left the room, shaken by the touch.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"He didn't feel it again until he was there. His thoughts were slow and his eyes were closed. It was the end. There wasn't a doubt in his mind about that. The only doubt was if he made the right choice. There wasn't a chance of saving himself now, he knew that. If he had made the wrong decision, if this wasn't what Lena needed to push her into the Light, he didn't know what would happen. He knew the chances were slim. He was the only incentive for her to join the Dark. Eliminating himself was theoretically the only option. It didn't cause him excessive pain though, the act of dying.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"It was a basic thought. It hurt worse than the pulsing death rolling through him. He wouldn't be there to comfort her. He wouldn't be there to see her cry. To pat her on the back and brush her tears away. He wouldn't be there to help her. It scared him that she wouldn't need him anymore. However, she needed to be independent. He knew there would be more than this challenge for her to face. She would have to find a way to cope. It was only logical. He told himself that a few times before giving up and letting his thoughts drift to nonsensical ramblings of a woman long lost, and how that Wate boy was her son through and through. He allowed himself to watch the rain until darkness pulled him under.p  
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;" p  
>hr style="color: #000000; font-family: Times; font-size: medium;" noshade="noshade" size="1"   
>p style="font-family: Times; font-size: medium;"Review review review! I need feedback! :)p 


	3. Chapter 3

This is going to be like the other chapters, but I only have one as of now. They'll vary more in length. I'm starting with a Valentine's Day shot. :) Wish me luck!

**Someone asked about a timeline. Hahaha! No. These are ideas of what could have happened. Accept the ones you like and ignore the rest. Also, I won't have Wifi until Tuesday, March 19. I won't be able to respond to reviews. :(**

Spoilers: Beautiful Creatures

Disclaimer: Not mine

~Until then~

Lena sat alone on the floor, silent tears streaming down her face. Valentine's Day, and she didn't have one. Of course, she knew the chances had been slim, as she didn't attend public school. It was a stupid hope. One that her uncle would ridicule, if he ever found out. She sniffled. Someone cleared their throat. Her eyes darted upward, frantic.

Her uncle stood in the doorway to her room, a concerning light in his eyes. His hands were tense, but at his sides. Nothing hinted at frustration. "I understand you are...disappointed, Lena." She shook her head. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No." For a moment, it seemed like he would listen. He certainly didn't look like he wanted to be there at the moment. With an in audible sigh, he closed the door and sat across from her, blocking the exit. "Uncle M..."

"Believe me, Lena, I'm not comfortable with this either. However, I refuse to allow any child under my care to be troubled by a Mortal holiday." He closed his eyes for a brief moment.

"Have you ever had a Valentine, Uncle M?" His eyes opened quickly, a bewildered expression marring his sober attitude.

"No, I haven't, Lena." She nodded slightly.

"I haven't either." Tears stung at her again. She turned away from her uncle to allow them release.

A pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her as she cried. He didn't comment on the tears. He waited until the torrents stopped, and she stilled in his arms.

"Lena, I know it's hard. Someday, a young boy will," he paused. He didn't know how to go about this. "Be more than your valentine."

She turned and buried her face in his chest. "Will you be mine?"

"Until then?" She nodded. "I'd be honored." He kneeled and took her hand. She smiled and kissed his cheek.

That had been years ago. True to his word, he was her valentine every year. Consecutively, she would wake to find a flower, usually a daisy or lily, on her nightstand. A small note on the pillow next to her. He continued until this year.

Lena shook her head. He was gone now. Part of her wondered if he given up because she had Ethan. That her uncle knew she had a boy who would be more than her valentine someday.

~Dawn~

She was the light he couldn't live with. Powerful and flowing. Deadly and awe-inspiring. She was what could kill him, in the smallest of forms. The slightest upturning of her lips, the breath of a laugh that prefaced her full laugh, the way her eyes brightened when he came into the room. They were his favorite memories, and his most feared. He embraced the warmth it caused and shunned the thought of what would happen next.

She stopped his worry of the future. She would halt his whirling thoughts with the barest of touches. A whisper of a hug, an almost tangible kiss to his cheek. She was his anchor, his center, his focus. He almost went to pieces, but she made sure he wasn't quite at that edge. She was his niece, his responsibility, his familial duty. Whatever happened to him, his role was unchanged.

She was his antonym, his opposite, his change. Where he was inherently dark, she was a naturally brilliant glow. When he resorted to losing his temper, she kept her head. His antagonistic attitude spurred her proactive morals. She melted the ice that normally surrounded his words.

She was his start and his end. She caused him to get up from his study. She made him decent and cordial to those he normally would have ignored. She was the finish that would mark her for the rest of her life. She was the epilogue to a story he wished no one knew.

She was a sharp life and a dream worth pursing. She caused him to rethink his motives. Her smile alone made him change his pre-selected course of action. Suicide was an act of cowardice, no longer a route. Plans were made, not cancelled. Nights were spent researching her escape, not his demise.

She cried in the tempests her mind created. He agonized over the day he wouldn't be there to stop her tears.

She needed him as he needed her. He was her constant. When storms of her own making threatened to overwhelm her, he was there, unwavering. His eyes were dark to any stranger, but she lived off of the flickers of coherency that assured her he was there. He was there, in the back of every memory. He was the father she never knew.

He was brave. She knew he was doing something unorthodox, something taboo, to keep her at Ravenwood. He was committing a crime of some degree, some level she couldn't comprehend.

He was human. She knew him to talk to himself. When he thought no one was looking, a dullness clouded his eyes, something eerily similar to a void, an abyss to a sadness and anguish she couldn't dream of touching. She saw him shatter before her eyes, only to pull himself together in a matter of seconds. He felt as deeply as those he reprimanded. _Pity and regret are for the weak and foolish._ He had never told her outright, but she knew distinctly where he stood on the matter.

He was the dying embers. His temper was normally collected, a cool, steady pillar she took comfort in. When something stoked that concealed blaze, he did occasionally allow it to consume him. Never, in those few memories, did he strike her or attack her. In his moments of repose, he never targeted her. He blamed himself, he broke himself slowly, until he was forced to build something out of the nothing that occupied the place where everything once lived. She saw that process every day.

He was direct, as every end is, and he excited her. He was what she could never be. What he wouldn't allow her to become. He was the arms she ran to when her light threatened to burn out. There, she regained a sense of who she was, and with his aid, she was brilliant again. He was wistful, as one expects the evening to be, when knowing the dawn approaches to disperse his very being. He was unafraid, as the full darkness that covers the sky.

He was her dusk. He was the personification of night. He could hold her as shadows cling to a form. His voice carried the apprehension of ages, and the wisdom of a man who didn't know what was to come. His gait was that of a man who never forgot what was at stake. His eyes reflected a sadness that, if described, would be travesty at best.

He was there after everything, no matter the outcome. She feared for the day when light finally overwhelmed him.


End file.
